


The Company We Keep

by azstarael



Category: Fallout 3
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst and Tragedy, Drama & Romance, F/M, M/M, Other, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:55:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24661138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azstarael/pseuds/azstarael
Summary: Life is hard in the Wasteland. It's worse in the Pitt. A motley crew comes together through a series of odd circumstances, and all they can do now is try to heal as best they can.
Relationships: Catherine/James (Fallout), Original Characters - Relationship
Kudos: 1





	The Company We Keep

**Author's Note:**

> This is a massive undertaking/pet project that one of my good friends insists needed to be shared with the internet. I'm still actively working on it, but the going is slow and due to other friends, just had about 20 characters added to it. Updates will be very sporadic as I work out the kinks.
> 
> Thanks for reading my magnum opus that will never make me a cent because of copyright lolol.

[](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_S5CQQPXxL4%22)

“Marcus, _please._ ” A very short, equally petite and angular woman begged the much taller man, his skin deeply tanned, eyes and hair dark. Her own complexion was naturally a good deal paler, but the unforgiving Wasteland sun had brought her to nearly the same shade. “You know this is an extenuating circumstance.” 

The woman, not quite clearing five feet, hazel eyes underlaid with a spark of intelligence, shadowed by the distinctive glaze of exhaustion, made every effort to keep her tone reasonable. Nearly a full two feet shorter than her employer, she was forced to look up quite a bit to keep eye contact. “I’m…” The real struggle was keeping herself from jumping over the counter and decking him in the face. Begging was just insult to injury. “Look, I have a kid to feed. I’m desperate. _**Please.**_ ”

“And I’m out a hundred caps, Claw.” Marcus glared down at her without a trace of sympathy. “You’re damn lucky I don’t put a bullet in your skull and loot you for the loss.” A brief scoff. “As though that’d make it up.”

Claw, again, forced herself to tamp down the urge to whip her pistol from its holster and break his jaw. “I just need more time,” she pressed. “The herd’s skittish, I need to find a partner, I know we agreed on a week, but if-”

“And now,” Marcus interrupted, leaning back and folding his arms, “I’m going to have to explain why the meat I promised three regular customers isn’t here. This is getting old, Claw.”

“You know,” she hissed, shoulders hunching toward him, “I do good work. I only-”

“I know you have in the past.” The butcher didn’t give her the chance to finish. “Lately,” his black eyebrows creased further, “I feel like I’m just throwing you caps for a bunch of excuses.” He shrugged one shoulder. “I like Connor. I respect you. That being said,” his tone took on a razor edge, “I’ll let the advance slide if you get the fuck out, before this turns ugly.” Marcus’ face settled into a look of irrefutable disdain. “Don’t bother coming back.”

Claw’s mouth opened out of instinct, a sharp rebuttal on her tongue, then snapped shut as she thought better of it. She spun on her heel without another word and stormed out of the shop, into the dull orange glow of the Wasteland’s afternoon sunlight. 

A young boy intercepted her almost immediately. His hair and skin were pale, eyes a bright, striking blue, childish features pinched in a surprisingly mature look of worry. “What’d Marcus...” he began tentatively, voice low and cautious, “how’d it-”

“Bad,” Claw snapped, not letting him finish. “Exactly what I was afraid of.” Her pace was brisk as she headed toward the small settlement’s center.

“But…” the boy’s tone became even more subdued, his rounded face trying and failing to make eye contact, “you tried, it’s not like-”

Her hands were shaking hard, unrelated to the anger still burning deep in her chest. It was only going to get worse fast, unless she got ahold of some strong alcohol. “You’re going to learn very quickly,” Claw ground through her teeth, heard the venom in her voice, too livid to care that the boy had done nothing to earn it, “‘trying’ is a failure’s excuse, and doesn’t put food in your stomach.”

“But you didn’t fail, it-”

“Yes,” she barked, in no mood for platitudes, especially not from a ten-year-old, “I did. I failed. I didn’t make a kill, which means I didn’t fulfill my end of a contract, which means I’m damn lucky Marcus let it slide.” Her eyes wanted to cry. The rage and self-loathing refused to give her the release. “Which also means-” her voice was trying to crack regardless, making her swallow hard, “-that I need you by the well, if you want to eat.”

Connor sniffled loudly, having a much harder time suppressing the tears. “Ok.” His voice had taken on a distinct waver. She could tell he was doing his best to keep himself from crying, and hated herself all the more for it. “How much…I mean, when should I-”

“As soon as you have enough for a meal.” She couldn’t even look at him. Going hungry herself was one thing- it was easy to remedy, though she didn’t plan on taking any compensation in food. Not after this. “Remember what I told you. Got your gun?”

Connor nodded once, and dragged the back of one wrist over his eyes. “Are…will you…” he was stumbling over the words, smart enough to recognize a delicate situation, too young to know what to do about it. “Just don’t- last time, you-”

“If I don’t find you by dark,” the woman interrupted again, her voice going completely emotionless, “I’m probably dead. What do you do?”

His voice cracked. “ _Claw-_ ”

She stopped short and spun around, hands in white-knuckled fists, all her hopelessness and anger etched in hard lines across her face. “What.” Her tone had gone from dead to icy. “Do. You. **Do?** ”

A single tear escaped and made a break down Connor’s cheek. “I hide,” he murmured, almost inaudibly, “until I see you, or another kid.”

“And then?” Claw knew how bitter and callous she sounded. It didn’t matter; he’d learn to understand unfortunately soon.

“I talk to them,” the boy continued in the same helpless, dejected whisper. The tears had started to flow freely, making damp trails through the dust and grime on his cheeks. “Find out if they’re doing ok. If yes, try to show the parents or…whoever, I’m useful.”

“No,” Claw snapped as she started walking again, “we just saw what happens when someone tries. You _make_ yourself useful.” They’d reached the center of the settlement, built around a shallow, scummy well. The water tasted like what she imagined the inside of a Brahmin’s asshole would, but was moderately clean, free from radiation. Without another word, she shoved Connor toward it, refusing to look at him as she made her way toward the pathetic excuse for a bar.

“Claw,” the boy’s voice carried after her, “you don’t have t-”

“Shut up,” she snapped back, “and feed yourself. Since I apparently can’t.”

The tavern was cramped, dim, hot, and smoky. It reeked of sweat, body odor, and just about every human excrement known to man. Claw took a labored breath, resigning herself to the fact, then huffed it out with the rest of her pride. There were a few options. She narrowed them down quickly.

The armor and dual pistols spoke for themselves, reaffirmed by a sizable bottle of liquor. Likely a mercenary, definitely had caps to spare.

“Hey.” She knew her voice was hollow and apathetic. The man she’d approached didn’t seem to care any more than she did. “I need booze. I’ll blow you for it.”

“Yeah?” He ran his gaze up and down her angular body. “Look, lady,” he obviously wasn’t impressed. “I like my broads with a little meat, y’dig?”

“Sure.” She’d been through the routine before. “But how many of ‘em are going to suck you off for a bottle?”

The stranger narrowed his eyes at her. “How do I know you won’t just book it after the hooch?”

Claw laughed, totally humorless. “What, you think you couldn’t catch me, or is your aim that bad?”

The man contemplated another moment, then shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.” He passed her the bottle. “It’s whiskey, hope you don’t-”

Claw was already chugging, nearly choked as the harsh burn seared her throat and hit her empty stomach. It spread quickly through the rest of her body, taking a modicum of tension from her shoulders, settling behind her eyes in a warm, foggy shroud that started numbing the despair and rage.

The stranger raised one appreciative eyebrow, giving her a small, crooked grin. “Damn, girl. You can drink, huh?”

“You have no idea,” Claw told him in the same flat tone. “Can I have this one for the favor?”

The man made a short, disparaging noise. “I guess. Better be one hell of a blow, though.”

“Don’t worry.” Claw threw back another stout swig. “I’ve never had any complaints before.”

She got through about a quarter of the bottle before the ‘favor’ was called.They went outside, around the corner, the bottle in Claw’s hand the entire time.

“You’re a little shaky there, lady.” He gave her a questioning look. “You sure you wanna do this?”

“It’s my first drink today,” she told him. “It’ll stop once this hits.”

A brief hum of understanding. “It’s like that, huh?”

“Yeah.” One more harsh swallow before she motioned impatiently. “Take ‘em down.”

Thankfully, she was already buzzed enough to separate herself from most of the experience. Just as fortunate, he didn’t take long.

Of course, she had practice with this kind of thing.

“Damn,” the man huffed out, tucking himself away and zipping up. “You weren’t lying, girl.”

Claw spat hard, washed the taste out with a few more deep swallows off the whiskey. “I know,” she told him, voice flat and dead. “Care to tip?”

There was the briefest flash of pity across his face. “Here, honey.” A small sack of caps was pressed into her hand. “Get yourself something to eat, huh?”

“Sure.” A lie, and they both knew it.

“You need some company? Not like that, just…”

“I like to drink alone. Thanks, though.”

The mercenary shrugged once, headed back inside. Claw slid down the wall, hand on her forehead, before hitting the bottle again.

***

Connor collected a meager sum in short order. But he wasn’t done yet- worry was a hard knot in his stomach, twisting and pinching harder than hunger ever could. She’d tried, why couldn’t she see that?

“Hey, mister,” He did his best to keep his voice level, “Spare a cap?”

Ignored. Like he was invisible. Connor sniffed hard, don’t cry, she hated it when he cried. “Lady, hey lady, I’m just trying to get some food, can you-”

“Piss off, urchin. I have my own kids to feed.”

It never hurt any less. He had to keep trying, though. Get tough. Like her. Fearless, like her.

Five more passer-bys, five more harsh dismissals, and the boy couldn’t hold it in any longer. He leaned against the well, eyes to his knees, and started crying.

He hoped she was okay.

“What’s going on, kid?”

Connor looked up quickly, swiped the water from his eyes with the back of his hand. A trio, two men and a woman. One of the men was fairly small- short, thin build, dark in all respects, square face. The other was much taller, blonde, a thick beard, well-built. The woman, lithe and almost as tall as the blonde, was red-headed, thick, flowing and curly, a distinctive spark in her eyes.

“Spare some caps?” He couldn’t keep the waver out of his voice. “Just trying to get something to eat.”

The dark man raised an eyebrow. “Sorry, kid, we’re only passing-”

“Dee,” the blonde punched him hard in the arm, “don’t be an asshole. Here, kid.” A small bag of caps was tossed at him. Connor caught them out of reflex, oh thank God, he’d be able to buy them both a meal now, maybe she’d stop shaking-

“What’s your deal, rugrat?” The woman tilted her head at him. “Orphan? Swindling for your crew?”

“No, I…thank you, thank you. It’s…” He sniffed again. “She…I have someone, she’s not my mom, she took me in, and…hunt went bad, she didn’t get paid, and…”

“You’re a fucking softie, Mirron,” the dark man punched the bigger one back. “You aren’t getting reimbursed, you know that, right?”

“Stick a poker up your ass, Dee. I’ve got it covered.”

“Aww,” the woman practically cooed, draping herself around his back, “this fucking soft-hearted dumbass. What am I gonna do with you, huh?”

A wide grin from Mirron. “Whatever you want, bitch.”

The dark man had a thoughtful look on his face the entire time. His black eyes were slightly distant as he ran then up and down Connor once. “So this…lady. She’s looking for work?”

Connor’s heart leapt into his throat. “Yeah,” he replied instantly, “she’s real good, too, super smart, great shot, she can-”

He was interrupted as the woman in question staggered out of the background, an absolutely livid look on her face, the barest of dregs left in the bottle she was gripping like a lifeline. “Th’fuck y’want? Connor, y’okay?”

Oh, no. She was drunk. Even worse than usual. It was all right. He could salvage this.

“Yeah, yeah,” he scrambled to his feet, got himself unobtrusively between Claw and the trio. “This guy just helped me out,” he motioned at Mirron, oh please don’t let her start swinging, “they were asking about you. How you need work.”

“That’s her, huh?” Dee gave Claw a thoroughly unimpressed look. “How old are you, kid?”

“M’fuckin’ twenty five,” she slurred, swaying dangerously. “Wanna go, ya piece’a shit?”

Oh no, please stop talking.

Connor was ready to pull out his pistol, as though he’d be able to do much with the six-shot, shoddy revolver, when Dee threw back his head and laughed. The others followed in short order.

“Damn! She’s got a hell of an attitude, huh?” Mirron managed to get out. “What’cha think, Dee?”

“Promising,” came the response. “Look, try to focus for a second. We’re looking for another hand. I mean, we’ll talk it over more when you can see straight,” another disparaging chuckle, “but the kid says you’ve got skills. What are they?”

Claw stayed tense for a few seconds, ready to swing, then her shoulders fell slightly. “Good shot,” she muttered. “Tactics. Hunter. Tracker.”

“Nice.” Dee crossed his arms. “What’s the vice?”

She glared at him and nearly fell, barely managing to stay on her feet. “The fuck you tryin’a say?”

“Booze,” he supplied for her. “No judgment. I like the Mentats, those two,” he jerked a thumb behind him, “prefer Jet. So, look.” The stare got more pointed. “You sound like you need some sleep. We’re setting up a pretty decent haul- it’d be good to have another hand on deck. You also,” there was no trace of sympathy in his tone, “obviously need the caps. So check this out.” He was looking at Connor, now. “We’re holing up in those shithole shacks. Moving out tomorrow around noon. This goes right? We’ll all have our fixes and some to spare. I’ve got a plan, but it’s missing a piece. You two might be it. So-” he shrugged one shoulder. “If you’re interested, find Dee.”

Claw’s glazed eyes were narrowed slightly. “Yeah? ‘Kinda work?”

“Lady,” Dee laughed again, “like you could keep the details right now if you tried. You eaten today?”

“Fuck you, dickhole.”

Dee raised his eyebrow again. “We’ll talk about that later.” A very snarky grin. “Anyway, we got places to be. What’s your name, kiddo?”

“Connor,” the boy said softly, still wasn’t about to let himself get out from between them.

“Well, get some food in you both. Don’t forget. Shacks, good haul.” Dee jerked his head at the other two briefly, who were in the process of getting more intimate with every passing second. “Knock it off, horndogs. We have work to do tomorrow, I need my beauty sleep, and don’t wanna hear a word about it if you stay up all night huffing and fucking.”

“Suck it, Dee,” the woman told him idly.

A very dramatic eye-roll. “Just keep the noise down, huh? Anyway.” He nodded at Connor once more. “Remind her, she’s probably in black-out mode.”

“Sure, sure,” he murmured. He could smell the alcohol on her breath from here. “Thanks. I’ll remember.”

“Nice kid,” Dee remarked idly to Mirron, who had no response, far too engaged with the red-head’s mouth. “Let’s go, you sons of bitches. I’m tired.”

With that, the trio took off, leaving Connor and Claw alone. The latter deflated once they were out of sight, sagging against the well, then sinking to the ground. “Y’okay, Con?” Her face was in both hands. “No one bother’y?”

“I’m fine.” He was about to cry again. Why did she do this? “You didn’t eat, did you?”

“Min’ your business,” she grumbled back, which answered the question immediately. “Can’…wheresa-” She broke off for a second, swaying back and forth slightly. “Smokes.”

He choked down a sob, pulled the battered cigarette case from her pocket, along with the pack of matches. “Here-”

She snatched one immediately, was at least coherent enough to light her own. That was something, he supposed. Less heartening was the way she slumped all the way to the ground, one arm cradling her head, the tobacco dangling loose from her fingers. She never dropped it, even though he could tell she was dangerously close to passing out.

“Th’fuck were those assholes?”

“I’ve gotta go get some food before the merchants shut down,” he told her quietly. No point in explaining now. She wouldn’t remember in the morning, anyway. “You gonna eat?”

No response. She was asleep, sprawled in the dirt, the smoldering cigarette finally falling to the dust. Connor snuffed it out and put it back into the case. The streets were quiet now, most people either equally incapacitated, or getting that way. The boy took a deep breath and headed toward the stalls. She’d need meat and water. Bread, if he could afford it.

* * *

Claw woke up sometime mid-morning, face in the dirt (plenty of it in her mouth) and hammers beating the inside of her eyes. She sat up very carefully, trying to shield her eyes from the unforgiving sun, reached for her cigarettes.

She’d been robbed, and Connor was gone.

Panic sent a lance through her stomach and chest. She tried to scramble to her feet, found she was still drunk, and fell. Claw tried to call out for the boy, but was cut off when she started vomiting. It cleared her head a bit more, but that was mostly due to the pain that made it feel like it was being split clean open.

’Oh God, I drank too much.’

“Con-” the choked cry was cut off with another heave, another wave of knives through her skull. “Connor,” she coughed out, spit, staggered to her feet, “Where the fuck are-”

“I’m right here.” The boy poked his head from around the well, having moved to sit in the shade. “How you feel?”

“Oh Jesus God.” She got herself beside him, gripping the well for balance. She plopped in the shade beside him, face in her hands, too miserable to bother rinsing the taste of rancid vomit and dirt from her mouth just yet. “Don’t fucking scare me like that.”

She didn’t remember getting back. She didn’t remember much of anything, after she hit the last quarter of the bottle. “I think-” her voice broke slightly, “I got robbed again.”

“Nah.” Connor patted her knee. “I took your stuff, just to be safe. Sorry, I tried to wake you up.”

“Why?” He knew better than to do that when Claw got that bad. It rarely ended well for him.

Connor made a noncommittal noise. “I didn’t want those mercs to leave before you could talk to them, and I wasn’t gonna leave it just lying around. Here.” Something landed on her lap. “You need that.”

Claw braved the sunlight to look at it briefly. Bread. He’d been able to get bread.

She was going to throw up again just thinking about eating it.

“Maybe in a minute,” she groaned. “Did I have any alcohol left?”

She could feel the disapproving look. Goddamned uppity little brat. “Yeah. I hid it.”

“Well,” Christ. Her eyes were sandy, the headache was nigh-on debilitating, “go fucking get it.”

“No.”

She squinted furiously at him. “Did you just tell me ‘no’?”

Connor shrugged. “I sure did.”

“You’re gonna get your ass up,” she snapped, “and bring me my goddamn liquor, or I’ll beat you into next week.”

“Yeah, well,” the boy bit back, just as angry, “Maybe at least you’ll remember doing it this time.”

That shut her down immediately. She silently picked up the bread, took a small bite, and used every ounce of her willpower to keep it down. “Get me some water,” she whispered almost inaudibly.

“Already did.” A bottle was pressed into her hand. “It’s clean.”

She really was going to cry this time. She needed to take care of him, not the other way around. What was happening to her?

“Thanks, Con,” she managed to choke out.

“Sure.” The boy’s head dropped to her shoulder. “I found those mercs again. They wanna talk with you.”

A harsh sniff. “What mercs?”

Connor’s sigh was long and quiet. Disappointed. It nearly broke her heart. “Three people, they seem pretty ok. Kinda rough, but you talked to them last night. They’re heading out for a job.”

“Ok.” Claw whispered helplessly, took another bite of the bread and a harsh swig of water. “Just…I need a few minutes.”

“Yeah.” He sighed again. “I know.”

She felt moderately better after eating. The headache was still awful, but slowly receding to a more tolerable level. Her stomach was starting to calm down, she could walk without staggering, and they did, into the shacks that served as lodging for the hunters and traders.

“I’m sorry, kid,” she muttered, desperately wishing for a good pair of sunglasses. “I’ll be better.”

“Sure,” he said dully, and Claw could tell he didn’t believe her. Not like he hadn’t heard that before, and been let down horribly. This time, she thought, gritting her teeth, she would.

She didn’t deserve it. He did.


End file.
